Jim Moriarty, Consulting Detective
by thetravelinglemon
Summary: AU. Events in the life of Jim Moriarty, Consulting Detective, and his arch-enemy Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Criminal. Rated M for violence/injury.
1. Boredom

**This was just an idea that came to me a while ago and I thought I'd try it. It can stay as a one shot or have a few other chapters – let me know what you think.**

Jim Moriarty, the world's only Consulting Detective, was bored. He'd tried reading, watching tv, sleeping, doing experiments; nothing worked. He knew his best friend, blogger and flatmate was ignoring him; Jim had tried to get his attention through sighing, staring at him, and flopping dramatically onto the sofa, but nothing worked. Sebastian was busy typing up their last case, and he knew better than to indulge Jim's attention-seeking. Jim needed a puzzle, something to stretch his brain. And that something was Sherlock Holmes, Consulting criminal and genius, accompanied by his faithful gunman John Watson. Jim hadn't heard anything of or from them for weeks, but he hoped he would soon. He needed _something _to relieve this boredom!

...

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Criminal, was bored. He sat in his temporary office, staring at the wall and willing for something to happen. He'd quickly discovered that John wasn't feeling chatty today, and he was tired of shooting the wall, watching surveillance and fiddling with his Rubik's cube. Suddenly he smiled, and John merely needed to quirk an eyebrow to get Sherlock to explain:

"John." He took a deep breath. "When other people are bored and want something to happen, they wait for something to happen and try to fill the time whilst doing so. When _I _get bored and want something to happen...I simply make something happen." John smiled and waited for his orders. "Fetch me Bland." John nodded and left to follow the order, hoping that whatever Sherlock had planned would occupy his master's overactive brain for at least a week this time.


	2. A Message

**Wow so many people liked the first chapter even though I didn't have a clue where I was going! Now I have some vague idea. Sorry the chapter is short, but I'm going on holiday tomorrow and would feel guilty if I didn't try to publish something before leaving!**

Douglas Bland received his orders and carried them out to the letter; resulting in a rather baffled and exasperated Inspector Lestrade bounding up the stairs of 221B Baker Street, in search of Jim Moriarty. Lestrade stopped in the doorway as he was met with the sight of Jim lying upside down on the sofa with his eyes closed, while classical music played loudly from the CD player.

Lestrade waited until the piece had ended before clearing his throat. Jim opened his eye, grinned, and said:

"And what delightful problem do you have for me today Inspector?"

"I wouldn't exactly call a murder 'delightful'..." Lestrade paused, unsure what to say.

After a moment, Jim frowned and said in a sing-song voice, "I need the fa-acts, can't get far without them!"

Lestrade sighed. "I think you'd better just come and collect your message."

Jim frowned and swung his body round so he was the right way up. "Message?" his eyes gleamed.

"Yea, and a gruesome one too."


	3. Not my Move

**Going on holiday for two weeks with no internet or phone connection, so trying to update the fanfics before I go. And sorry for the violent/gory bits in this. It's not detailed, but I'm not sure how or why I ever came up with this.**

Jim examined the outside of the abandoned council flat before entering, followed by Lestrade and Sebastian. They all ignored Sally Donovan's disgusted look aimed at Jim, and Anderson's attempt at a leering comment.

Jim headed straight for the room containing the body. The victim was male, with black hair, about 5"8", and wore a tailored suit, though not s shirt: deduction – he deliberately looked like Jim. Jim crouched down next to the body, examining it, before he read the message that was carved into the man's naked chest: _The game is on Jim_. He frowned and glanced over the body.

"Has it been touched?"

"Only to ascertain time of death."

"Which was?"

"About two hours ago. Apparently the poor sod was alive while they wrote their message." Sebastian pulled a face as Jim added:

"Though probably sedated – neat work like that speaks of time and precision, which would be awkward if the man was struggling. What was the cause of death?"

"We don't know for definite, but it was probably some kind of poison." Jim nodded absently as his brain began to process the information presented to him, in order to reach a conclusion. It was not long before he had one.

"Sebastian, I think dear Sherlock is trying to get our attention."

Sebastian nodded. "Sounds fun – at least you won't be bored anymore."

"No, I won't. Well thank you for your time Lestrade, and for telling us; I presume you'll inform us of any new developments?"

"You mean that's it?"

"Of course Inspector – this is a game, and it's not my move. Come on Seb." Sebastian smiled apologetically at Lestrade, shaking his hand and saying goodbye, before following Jim out the flat.

**If people don't review, I may have to resort to bribery.**


	4. Another one

**I am so so sorry for the massive delay in posting a chapter, but I had real problems knowing where this story was going, and my life is very busy, so all in all, I didn't write. But I'm writing now after some lovely support and encouragement from FlyingLovegood123.**

About 18 hours later, Jim received a call.

"Ah, Lestrade."

"Jim, there's been another murder."

"And..."

"And it's the same message: 'The game is on Jim'."

"Interesting. Who was the victim?"

"We haven't identified her yet, but she's got dark hair, she's middle-ish height, body physically appealing..."

"Lestrade!"

"I'm speaking entirely objectively! Besides, she's not wearing a top."

Jim let out a small chuckle. "Where?"

"Twickenham, at the edge of the golf course."

"Are you asking for my assistance?"

"I'm asking if you need to see anything."

"For once, Anderson's pictures will suffice, I think. Call me if there's any developments."

And with that, Jim hung up.

He sat in his chair, thinking, until the sun rose and filled the flat with a weak yellowish light.

By the time Sebastian woke, Lestrade had dropped round some pictures, and Jim had pinned both them, and pictures of the previous victim, to the cork board he'd set up on the wall for just such a purpose.

Sebastian paid Jim no attention until after his first sip of coffee, then he strode over to gaze at the pictures.

"Another one?"

"Indeed, Sebastian; another one." Jim bounced on the balls of his feet and resorted to his sing-song voice again. "It doesn't make se-ense!"

"Have some coffee, then it might."

"Thank you my dear blogger, you are invaluable."

Jim took the mug from Sebastian's hands and sipped the hot liquid. Sebastian just sighed, shrugged, and returned to the kitchen to make one for himself.

Jim peered closely at the photos, muttering to himself.

"Marks on her nose; she wore glasses for reading; they're not so pronounced that she wears them all the time, hence them being only reading glasses, but they are still noticeable, so she liked reading, or did a lot of it. She takes pride in her appearance, but more in her intelligence; though her clothing is tasteful, she hasn't bothered to paint her nails or put on make-up, and there's been no rain to wash it off, and she's got an imprint on her hand as if she was holding a book for a long time. No-one has that much time for pleasure reading, so it must be something to do with her profession; a professor maybe, or a researcher."

He paused to take another sip of coffee and lean on the sofa.

"Exactly my type of woman. My dear Sherlock, how _did _you know?"

**This was meant to be a victim who looked like Irene Adler, but it was hard to describe her because the description would be mostly her personality, and you can't describe the personality of a dead person.**


	5. Another-nother one

**Thanks again to FlyingLovegood123 for the support and encouragement.**

**And I've, well, myself and a friend, - we've created blogs:**

**jimmoriartyconsultingdetecti ve**

**sebtheinvaluableblogger**

...

Half an hour later, Jim got another call.

_Ah ah ah ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive, ah_...

Jim lunged for the phone.

"Lestrade."

"There's been another one."

"Yes, I know that thank you; you called."

"No, another-nother one."

"Oh." Jim frowned and checked his watched. "You only called me about six hours ago."

"I know."

"You didn't sleep, did you Lestrade?"

There was a pause.

"Naughty: you should go to bed and sleep."

"Since when were you my mother?"

Sebastian, who could hear the whole conversation, sniggered. Jim shot him a look.

"I'm only concerned."

"Yeah – concerned you won't get access to my crime scenes. I'll sleep later, when I've got time, but at the moment, we have another body with the same bloody message for you. What's going on?"

"Oh, is there lots of blood?"

Sebastian sniggered again.

"Jim, what's going on?"

"I don't know yet." Jim sighed and sat back in his chair. "Send any decent photos round when you can."

"You're not coming?"

"No, I don't really fancy it. Sebastian said he's going to set me up a blog."

"What? What kind of detective are you?!"

"One of a kind, my dear Inspector. Now if you want me to do something, how about you describe this victim to me."

Lestrade cleared his throat. "Well..." he hesitated.

"What?"

"Firstly, we found her in Gray's Inn Gardens, and she was like the others; topless with the message carved into her chest." A brief pause and an intake of breath. "She's about sixty with blonde-grey short hair, she was wearing her reading glasses, she's got a couple of rings on, her clothes look expensive..."

"Yes, thank you Inspector."

Jim interrupted and ended the call, glancing up at Sebastian.

"Jim? She sounds like Mrs Hudson."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Seb." Jim snapped, and Sebastian pulled a face before leaving the room.

A minute of silence, then "MRS HUDSON!"

The landlady bustled up the stairs. "What is it Jim? I was halfway through a cup of tea." She looked at him. "You haven't slept again have you? Why don't you get some rest? You look like you need it."

Jim smiled; he liked it when Mrs Hudson mothered him, even if he'd never tell anybody.

"Mrs Hudson, all I needed was the sight of your lovely face to set me up for the day."

Jim grinned and headed for his room.

Mrs Hudson just smiled, shook her head, and left to finish her cup of tea.

...

**I wouldn't normally do this, but may I trouble you to take a look at the Oliver King Foundation Petition.**

**Oliver King was a boy at my school and he was in my little sister's class. He was 12 when he died suddenly in a swimming lesson from SADS (sudden adult death syndrome), and his family and others are now working tirelessly to get defibrillators in schools and other public buildings.**

**We need 100,000 signatures by 10****th**** February 2013. Please Help.**


	6. A Shock Blanket

**May I firstly say thank you to anyone who's looked at the petition – we've reached our target of 100,000 signatures, so the government is now obliged to pay us some attention :p**

**Thank you also to anyone who's looked at the blogs, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter, my dear readers **

...

Jim spent the day doing various things; Sebastian set him up a blog, which he fiddled round with for a while, and Mrs Hudson baked some scones, some of which the detective happily ate. He took a nap, and spent a long time agonising over the photos pinned to the board, and writing notes in different coloured pens on a big sheet of paper he'd stuck to the wall beside them.

About midday a package of photos was dropped through the letterbox, and Jim was happily occupied with them for the two or so hours following.

It was 5pm when Jim's phone rang again. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned at it for a moment, before answering the call.

"What?"

"Hello to you too, Jim."

There was a pause as Lestrade waited for Jim to respond, and Jim waited for Lestrade to get to the point.

"Well, it's the same old story; dead body, carved message for you, another life wasted because some psychopath is bored."

"My dear Lestrade, Sherlock would be offended to hear you talk so: he much prefers 'sociopath'."

"I don't bloody care whether Sherlock Holmes prefers to be called a sociopath or a squirrel, I just want to know if you're coming this time."

"It all depends really. Give me data, then I can decide."

Lestrade sighed. "He's been found in some back street in Ilford. He's about 50 with grey hair, tired face, tan, relatively strong from the looks of him. Urmm..."

"Lestrade, not to worry you, but have you been paying attention to your description, and to the body not far away?"

"I'm not even going to ask how you know how close I am to the body, and of course I've been paying attention – I've paid attention to nothing else since I arrived."

"Then I suggest you look close, Inspector."

There was a pause which indicated that Lestrade was doing as he was told, and Jim took the opportunity to shout for Seb to get him another cup of tea.

There was a muffled curse, before Lestrade spoke. " Jim?"

"Right here."

"Is the victim, urm...is the victim meant to look like...me...?"

"If I was there, I'd give you a round of applause for your deductive skills. You really _are_ coming along." Jim grinned.

"Well thanks, but I'm a bit more concerned about the body right now. Why is he meant to look like me?"

"Sherlock's mind works in strange ways; I can't possibly be expected to understand. However," he paused, "each victim has looked like someone I know, or have known, so I'm guessing this is just Sherlock's way of reminding me that he can destroy everything I hold dear without any effort at all."

"That's not very reassuring..."

"It wasn't meant to be – I was answering your question, not giving you a shock blanket."

Lestrade sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "So are you coming?"

"No, I don't think so. I'll come next time."

"Next time?"

"But of course – Sherlock isn't finished yet."

Lestrade sighed, muttering something about sending the photos round, before hanging up.

Jim dropped the phone onto the table, absently beginning to hum a tune as he sat back on the sofa and began thinking. Each time it was his move in this game, he'd passed because he had no idea what to do, and the detective was getting bored of not knowing.

...

**If anyone is clever enough to work out the complex little thing I'm doing, then I'll give you a mention, a virtual cookie and possibly a character named after you. How do the murders link, other than all the victims looking like someone Jim knows? Feel free to review or PM me if you think you know.**


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